Blue and the Grey
by hansprinsessa
Summary: After Eric regains his memories, he realizes the truth: only one woman has ever loved him, all of him, without wanting him to change a thing. He goes to her, but is it too late? Is the damage already done? Paric, S4 AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This little number was inspired by the fuckery that was Season 4. Not for Sookie enthusiasts, because I blow obvious holes all up in your ship. It's set moments after Eric regains his memories, and realizes the truth: That Sookie only loves the man he was with no memories. Not who he truly is. And in the process, remembers who the only woman is that has ever loved all of him. Enjoy.**

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_Dear sky,  
Dear sky, don't cry for me  
Be the hope I could never reach  
Cold sea, please don't let me sink  
Wrap your arms around me  
And carry me home...  
- "Blue and the Grey", Parkway Drive_

He remembered everything.

He had heard of humans over the years speaking of their life flashing before their eyes. In fact, he probably was the _cause _of quite a few human's lives flashing before their eyes in his thousand years as he left a trail of blood and bodies circling the globe.

He remembered his family, their lives as well as their deaths at the hands of Russell and his wolves. He remembered countless battles fought and won, both as a human, and as a vampire. He remembered Godric finding him on his funeral pyre, asking for life. Rising the next night, thinking himself a monster. Every moment he spent at Godric's side. The _last _moment spent at Godric's side. Every faceless human he had killed in the millennia he had walked the earth. The women, _all _the women. Countless images flitting through his mind, one after another, of a life lived in the shadows, alone, for the most part. Until…until the madam at the brothel who captured his attention…

_Pam._

Her pain is rolling through him, through their bond; dulled, as if she's trying to hide it from him, a habit she had picked up in the last few years that he had been none too happy about. She was cursed too, and he hadn't been there for her. She needed him, and he had been preoccupied with…

"Eric?"

Still reeling, his eyes snap down to the source of the voice, before shifting to the retreating Bill, walking towards a squawking Nan Flanagan. Sookie takes a tentative step forward, beginning to reach for him, but he recoils.

"I've…"

He stops, looking down at her, the memories of their time together flooding back along with everything else. For a brief moment, his lips quirk up into a smile, remembering that finally, _finally_, he fucked her. But those memories were soon blotted out by negative ones.

He had made a fool of himself. In front of a human. He had asked her, _begged her_, to run. He, a Viking, run? Eric Northman, having to be told to stay and fight by a human girl? He had followed her around like a sad puppy. Cried, with his face buried in her lap, over a maker he couldn't remember. And she had _reveled _in it. Made it clear she preferred him that way. For the first time in his existence, Eric felt…embarrassed.

"You've…what?", Sookie questions, looking up at him, her hand returning to her side. "Eric, we've got to help Bill…"

He can't help but roll his eyes. Bill, Bill, Bill. "I don't have to help _Bill _do anything. I've got to get out of here, Sookie." _Away from you_, he stops just short of adding. "Pam needs me, I can feel her…"

Sookie scowls, interrupting in an irritated tone of voice, "Pam's a big girl, Eric, she can take care of herself. We need to talk."

"Pamela is my child, Sookie," he growls, "I need to see her."

She reaches for his hand again, only for him to take another step back. Her face screws up in confusion, tears welling in her eyes as always seems to be the case, asking him in a shaky voice, "Do you…do you remember us?"

"Us?"

She frowns, taken aback. "We…I thought we were in love."

She watches as his face turns to stone, an expression, or more accurately a lack of one, she hadn't seen on him since before he was cursed. "In love?" he asks, a laugh in his voice, taking a step towards her. Back to his usual, intimidating self. She swallows as she cranes her neck up at him, brown eyes meeting narrowed, angry blue ones. "I have wanted to fuck you since Compton brought you into my bar, Sookie. I wanted you to be mine, not his, _mine_. Are you? Mine?"

She shakes her head. "I never agreed to that."

Without missing a beat, he nods. "You did not. In fact, you've fought me tooth and nail every step of the way." He pauses, his eyes traveling down her body, before returning to her face. "I wanted you, and now I've had you."

He falters as her lip begins to tremble, her arms crossing over her chest protectively as she whispers, "You're an asshole."

He merely smiles, until another wave of pain hits him from his progeny, the grin fading from his face. Pamela. The reminder of her reminds him of exactly why he has been delusional over the past few years to think this could ever work. He moves in closer, leaning down so that his face is inches from the fairy girl he's chased for months. Lusted after. _Wanted. _Lost his fucking mind over, again and again.

"You're right. I _am_ an asshole, Ms. Stackhouse." She looks away, and he grasps her chin, pulling her head back up to face him. "Do you recall lying in bed with me, telling me you weren't sure if you'd love me once I regained my memories?" He imperceptivity loosens his grip, just enough for her to nod feebly. "Do you know why that is? You loved the man who depended on you, who begged to stay at your side. Who clung to you like a life raft in the ocean because he knew no better. You had a blank slate, and you liked it. You _loved _it."

"That's not true," she whispers, "you were kind and sweet…"

"Did you love me before this happened, Sookie?"

"I don't…I don't know, Eric. I told you the night we first kissed, despite all the horrible things you had done to me, I still liked you." She swallows thickly, looking away from him. "I knew you were capable of change."

His anger flares, but his face remains impassive, although his voice changes, his accent becoming more clipped as he hisses, "I do not claim to understand your human notion of love, Sookie, but I do know this: if someone has to change who they are to be loved by someone, that's not love. You do not love me. You can't."

"I can. I do, Eric, please…"

"No," he silences her, raising a hand. He regards her silently for a moment, the picture of innocence in her heart-covered jacket and shining brown eyes, before he opens his mouth to speak. "Look me in the eye and tell me you can love all of me. The things about me that will never change. I am a thousand years old. I am a vampire. I'm a _killer_, Sookie, I always will be. I am, as you so eloquently put it, an asshole. I'm not your lost puppy that needs shelter. I'm not the confused man you took in. I'm not the watered down version of myself I was while I stayed with you. I'm the same man, the same vampire, I was before this happened. Look me in the eye and tell me you're okay with that. Tell me that you love _all _of me, not just the parts you can manipulate and control."

She swallows convulsively before she shakes her head to the negative, finally answering him. "I can't. I can't do that."

He can only stare at her for a moment as she confirms what he already knew, even if some part of him had hoped she'd prove him wrong.

"Everyone thinks you're such a darling," he says with a sneer.

She raises her chin as she retorts, "I am a darling."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Hardly." He turns to walk away, but stops, his back still turned as he speaks. "Tell me, Sookie, do you love Bill?"

She's silent for only a split-second before she answers.

"Yes."

He spins to face her, but doesn't come any closer. He can feel the honesty of her answer in her blood, much more honest than she was when discussing her feelings for him. "But you love me, too. How is that possible?"

"Sometimes I think it's just because you've both given me your blood. Sometimes...sometimes I think it's just chemical."

He closes the distance between them, for nothing else but to keep eavesdroppers from hearing what he has to say. "I let you destroy me, Sookie, long before the curse destroyed who I am. Long before I tasted you. I wanted you, so desperately, and all you did was tell me I wasn't good enough. Everything I've done was to protect you, and you've done nothing but reject me. Tell me I'm not good enough for you the way I am. And yet, he," he jerks his head towards the King of Louisiana, "allowed you to get almost beaten to death. He lied to you. He raped you, Sookie."

She visibly stiffens at the reminder, but he refuses to stop. "Yes, I heard about that. All of those things and more, and yet I can feel how much you love him. You overlook everything for him, but expect me to change. He's done nothing but hurt you, physically and mentally, but yet I am not good enough for you. You hold me to a higher standard than him, and you expect me to be someone I'm not, while you accept him for the sniveling, lying little prick he is. No more, Sookie. No more."

Pam's pain rockets through him, so strong it almost brings him to his knees right then and there. Suddenly, everything clicks in his mind. He's been chasing this fairy relentlessly, a woman who wants him to change everything, who could never love him for him. Who tells him he's not good enough. Who has brought nothing but sadness in his previously happy, mostly carefree existence.

And by his own stupidity, by listening to his cock instead of his brain, his heart, he's pushed away the only person on this planet that has always loved him exactly the way he is. Worshiped him and the ground he walked on for a hundred years. Who would never ask him to change anything, except perhaps this obsession he has with Sookie Stackhouse.

He's felt it in her blood ever since Pamela walked in on him kissing Sookie, the night she accused him of choosing a human over himself, over her. He felt it, and it terrified him. She wanted to leave him. She had finally had enough. The night Sookie disappeared, he had returned to the bar, covered in concrete and triumphant from one-upping Compton, but he had faltered when he felt her. Underneath her normal I-don't-give-a-shit façade, he felt the same feelings he had felt from her the last time she desired to go out on her own, to part with him, but this time the feelings were laced with an acute misery, a sense of mourning, so strong it had caught him completely off guard.

Pam was ready to go then, it seemed, but after Sookie disappeared, and he had felt the brittle bond he had forged with the girl stretch thin and snap, she was afraid to leave him alone when he was so obviously losing his ancient mind. She had dutifully stayed by his side as he frantically searched for the fairy princess far and wide. As he had treated her as nothing more than a tracking dog, following every lead, every sighting, that he could find involving a little blonde girl in the state.

His loyal progeny. His girl. His _baby_. So much, too much, like him: strong and brave and loyal to a fault, only to him. She would have never abandoned him in his time of need.

And once Sookie returned from wherever the hell she had been? Pamela had watched him, with sorrowful eyes, as he leapt from his coffin once the sun went down to high-tail it to Bon Temps to lay eyes on the fairy he so coveted.

He had felt it in their bond that night, stronger than ever, and ignored it. That she had had enough. That desire to leave him, again. But he ignored it. He ignored her. Taking her for granted as he had since Sookie Stackhouse entered their bar, taking for granted that she would still be there, waiting on him, when all was said and done. When he tired of the fairy.

He realizes he's glaring at Sookie, and his eyes shift away as he speaks, his voice oddly formal. "I will no longer call on you, Ms. Stackhouse. I will return the deed to your house, as soon as my lawyer can get it ready. This," he gestures to the distance between them, "was a mistake."

He looks up to see tears steadily flowing down her cheeks, her whisper so quiet he has to strain to hear her, even with his vampire senses.

"No, Eric. I love..."

"Save it," he snarls, "You don't love me. You love _him_, the man I was. Not the vampire I am. And you love Bill, Sookie, I can feel it. Go on, run to him, let him be the death of you." He pauses, his eyes blazing down at her, before he speaks again, his voice strangely detached. "You took advantage of me, Sookie. You led me on, and took what you wanted from me, knowing that this would happen. Knowing I didn't know any better."

"Eric, I didn't…"

He interrupts her as he turns, throwing his parting words over his shoulder.

"I've got to go. My child needs me."

He can only hope that she still does.

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**A/N: Next chapter up momentarily. A review, perhaps?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Daddy goes home to Baby, where he belongs. Paric lovers, rejoice, and I apologize in advance for this angst. I cried, okay? Don't judge me.**

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_Distance was born when the sea and the sky grew apart_  
_Loneliness was born the day I let you go_  
_I let you go_  
_So now I stand at the shore and speak to the ocean_  
_I stand in the water and let my guts spill_  
_We both keep our secrets_  
_We're both, oh so blue_  
_My heart is full of darkness_  
_I know that your's is too..._  
_- "Blue and the Grey", Parkway Drive_

As his feet touch the ground in the parking lot of Fangtasia, Eric feels free. Free of the witch's spell he was under…free of the spell Sookie had put him under.

It was time to put his life back together.

He can feel Pam clearly at such a short distance, her pain, her anger, as well as her hope and anticipation. She knows he's coming.

He throws open the back door to his bar, inhaling deeply the scents surrounding him, feeling like he's home. The club is in full swing, and he smiles softly at the realization that despite everything, his curse and her own, Pam has obviously managed to keep things business as usual. He walks straight past a stuttering Ginger, who is exiting the office, practically jumping up and down in glee at the sight of him, striding right to the door without a word to where he can feel Pam is waiting for him.

He pauses before he pushes the door open, almost afraid of what he might encounter on the other side. What if she's rotting again? What if she refuses to speak to him?

But before he can open the door himself though, it's swung open wide, his child standing there in the doorway looking as beautiful as she was the night he turned her; dressed, not in her usual club attire, but barefoot, in a skirt and a pink sweater. Soft and sweet, just the way he's always preferred her. She reaches out, grabbing his wrist and yanking him in the office, slamming the door shut behind him in Ginger's face, who was still trailing along after him, yapping away, and apparently planned to follow him in.

For a moment they say nothing, simply standing there, sizing each other up; her eyes inspecting him, no doubt having to suppress a shudder at the ridiculous clothes Sookie had him dressed in. A million things filter in and out of his mind to say: apologies; great, dramatic professions, but he can't seem to settle on anything. Finally, Pam breaks the silence, but barely; her voice would be inaudible to human ears.

"Are you back? Is it you?"

She knows the answer, of course. Not only had she felt it the second he regained his memories, his confusion along with about every other emotion known to man or vampire; every fiber of his being has changed. From the look in his eye, to simply the way he stands, filling the room with his presence once again, exuding power in the way only he ever has. No longer the wide-eyed, cowering creature who feared the unknown, who couldn't hold eye contact to save his life. Who looked at her as if she were a stranger.

He nods, stepping in closer, hooking his hand around the back of her neck to pull her against him. He can't help but sigh in contentment as her body melts into his, her arms wrapping tightly around him as his do the same, folding her into his familiar embrace.

She can feel his lips brushing her ear as he finally responds, his voice hushed, "It's me. I'm back."

A strangled sob escapes her lips before she can stop it as she squeezes him tighter, her voice losing the trademark southern accent she'd adopted, sounding less like a sultry purr and more like the girl he turned all those years ago in San Fransisco.

"My God, I missed you so much. That fucking sorceress, I thought I had lost you forever." She grasps at his shoulders as he pulls away, his fingers trailing down her cheek as he inspects her face. "How did you get her to break the curse?"

He's silent for a moment, searching her eyes, before he answers, "I didn't. Sookie did it."

He watches as her face practically turns to stone right before his eyes, releasing him as she takes a step back, her voice suddenly cold and hard. Although she tries to block it from him, he can feel the first tendrils of hurt, of pain, creeping through him from their bond.

"Oh," she replies softly, her eyes drifting down to her feet as she adds even softer, "Good for you."

He doesn't respond, taking a step to close the distance she put between them, raising her chin up with one finger, her eyes following reluctantly behind to meet his. He sweeps his fingers across her cheek and into her hair, combing his fingers through her blonde locks, grasping a handful at the base of her neck. She allows him to use his grip to turn her head from side to side, a dejected look on her face as he inspects her more closely.

"Are you healed?" he asks, his voice a whisper.

"No," she whispers back, her eyes piercing his, "I don't have a pet fairy to fix me."

"Pam…" he begins, but she cuts him off, somehow freeing herself from his grasp.

"Don't, Eric. Just…don't." He watches her as she walks away, rounding the desk, mindlessly shuffling papers. "Dr. Ludwig says there's no way to reverse the spell. Ginger's been giving me shots…"

"I felt your pain, that's why I came."

Her eyes snap up to his, her jaw setting angrily. "I'm quite sure that's the _only _reason you came. I'll be rotting on the inside for the rest of my existence. Now you know. You can run along back to Bon Temps now." She gestures at herself before adding, "As you can see, I'm fine."

He shakes his head, biting back an angry retort as he crosses the small office quickly on his long legs, leaning down with both hands flat on the desk.

"You're not fine, Pam, and neither am I."

Her eyes narrow as she places her hands on the desk, mirroring his stance, as she hisses, "I'm sure you're fucking better than fine, Eric. You've been balls deep in Tinkerbell the past few nights, just like you've wanted to be."

"Pamela," he barks, his voice stern.

"Release me."

Eric freezes, feeling as though she slapped him. _Wishing _she had slapped him instead. Slapped him, staked him, pushed him out into the sunlight. She had left before, yes, ventured out on her own, as all progeny do eventually. But to release her? Sever the ties that bind them together? Not to feel her every second of every night as he had for a hundred years? Still reeling from the loss of his bond with Godric the year before, the thought of feeling that complete, utter emptiness inside him almost brings him to his knees.

He opens his mouth to speak as she meets his eyes squarely, before closing it again. Finally, he stands straight, finding his voice, although it sounds nothing like his own to his own ears.

"Why?"

"Why?", she scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. On the outside, she looks her normal fierce self, but he can feel the turmoil in her blood, bordering on agony. Her small frame shaking imperceptivity. She's seconds away from breaking. "I can't be party to this fuckery a second longer."

She can see the muscles around his eyes twitching, his anger rising as he growls, "I will do no such thing, Pam."

"Why not?" she asks, as she opens the desk drawer, plucking out her purse before walking to the door. Her hand reaches for the doorknob, pulling the door open, before it's slammed shut again by a large hand over her shoulder. He grabs her by her shoulder, spinning her around, leaning down in her face as his fangs snap down with a loud click.

"Why not?" he snarls back. "You are _mine_, Pamela."

"I'm not the only one that's _yours_," she bites back, her lip trembling as he closes in on her, pressing her against the cold metal of the door. "I tire of playing second to _her_."

"You are second to no one," he hisses.

"Eric," she whispers, "please. Let me go."

"Never."

"Eric," she repeats, "It's time for me to move on. You don't need me anymore…"

"I _do _need you, Pamela."

"You need a bar manager, Eric," she growls, "That's all I am to you."

"You are my child. You're irreplaceable."

Pam shoves against his chest, and he allows her to push him a step back as he glares down at her, on the verge of losing control of his anger. Ever his little pistol, Pam raises her chin proudly, glaring at him in defiance as she speaks, trying and failing to hide the pain in her voice, to veil the despair she feels from their bond.

"Irreplaceable? I've _been _replaced. I was replaced years ago, Eric, ever since Sookie walked in this godforsaken shithole we call a club." Eric looks away, unable to withstand the weight of her accusatory stare, and she takes a step forward, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. "Ignorant, white-trash, backwoods Barbie. What the _fuck_ does she have that I don't?"

Eric's eyes stay trained to the floor as he whispers under his breath, "Nothing."

"You. She has you."

"Pamela, I…" he begins, reaching for her, but stops short as she recoils from him, retreating until her back hits the wall. Braving a look at her face, he sucks in a sharp breath seeing tears coursing down her porcelain cheeks, being able to count on one hand how many times he's seen her cry.

A choked sob escapes her lips as she lets her head fall back against the door, swiping angrily at her tears, smearing blood across her cheeks. "I've been with you over a hundred years, Eric. I've stood idly by as you seduced supermodels and princesses and spit out their bones when you were finished…"

"Pam," he interrupts, but she keeps going. Nothing could stop her now.

"…how could I lose you to her? To _her_?"

"_Pamela,_" he tries again, "You haven't lost me…"

"I felt you," she whispers, her eyes burning into his in accusation, her whole body shaking, "I felt you, Eric. Every second you spent with her, I could feel you…"

"I know," he says simply, knowing what's to come next.

"All the women, over all these years, meant nothing to you. You came home to _me. _You were still _mine._"

Her pain, her misery, feels like a gunshot to his chest, a black hole opening up inside of him. He can barely force the words from his lips, the accent of his homeland heavy in his voice.

"I still am, min älskling."

"You're in love with her," she says simply, a statement, not a question. She looks him dead in the eye, daring him to deny what she's been an unwitting party to for far too long. He watches silently as bloody tears slip down her cheeks, before he finally attempts to speak.

"I…"

"You're in love with her, Eric, I can feel it," she sobs, her shaking knees giving way as her back slides down the door, crumpling to a heap on the cold concrete floor of the office, burying her face in her hands as he looks on, horrified, knowing that he did this to her. His child; his daughter, lover, companion, the strongest and fiercest woman he's ever known, reduced to curling in on herself, broken and sobbing, all because of him and his stupidity. "And I haven't felt that from you since…"

"You," he whispers, finishing her thought for her, taking a step closer to where she sits.

"I never thought..." she sobs out, unable to finish her sentence. He watches her as he towers over her, unsure of what to do, what to say. If she'll even believe him if he tells her what he's done. He doesn't know how to explain himself to her, when he can hardly explain it to himself.

Finally, he's unable to watch her any longer, her narrow shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs, bloody tears dripping from underneath her hands to spatter her sweater. Sinking slowly to his knees beside her, he attempts to pull her into her arms, but she immediately lashes out, all teeth and limbs and nails, pushing and scratching him away.

"Don't fucking touch me," she sobs, pushing him away feebly, even as her hands fist his shirt, pulling him back. Her voice is as broken as he's ever heard it as she chokes out in a broken whisper, almost as if she's talking to herself and not him, "You fucking reek of her. Not of home. _Her_."

He freezes as he holds her out at arms length, trying to control himself, control the raging emotions her simple statement brings forth. To any outsider, it would seem a mindless sentence, 'not of home.' But to him, it's like time travel, back to much simpler times, back to what they were before. How as a baby vampire and for decades thereafter she would sleep with him, burying her face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, her button nose brushing his skin as she inhaled his familiar scent. And how more often than not, the last sound he'd hear before they both died for the day was a wistful '_home'_ escaping her lips.

It was Eric's turn to break.

Releasing her, he rips the bloodstained shirt up over his head, tossing it away, hoping to get rid of the offending scent; hearing it land somewhere, forgotten, across the room. Banding an arm around her waist, he pulls her into his lap despite her continued protests, cradling her small body to his bare chest, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair, unable to force himself to say a single word; unsure of what to say, where to begin. Suddenly fighting his own tears. _What has he done?_

Giving up her struggle, Pam presses her face into his shoulder, unable to stop the flow of her tears. Once they began, she doesn't know if they'll ever stop. She's been holding so much inside, for years now. Ever since _she _walked into their lives, all big doe eyes and horrible teeth and even worse fashion sense.

She hadn't cared at first. Was amused by his infatuation, actually. It had given her ammunition to tease him with, the likes of which she hadn't had in decades. But she had seen and felt it grow into something more, an obsession that he couldn't shake.

She had wanted to leave. Not to be released, but to just go their separate ways, to free her from bearing witness to his fall from grace. To see him chase relentlessly after someone that didn't want him; to see him, Eric Northman, get rejected over and over, only to go back for more. She couldn't take it. Couldn't take his mood swings, the way he spoke to her. She had made up her mind, she would ask permission to go.

And then, Sookie disappeared.

She was with him when it happened; combing the chunks of concrete out of his hair that remained after he showered, when he felt the bond with the miserable human break. She went with him to look for her, Eric more frantic than Bill Compton himself when he showed up, covered in the queen's blood, newly crowned as the king of Louisiana.

Pam knew then she couldn't leave him. She wouldn't dare, in the state he was in when they realized she had vanished, seemingly without a trace. A year went by without a word from her, and things had slowly began to get back to normal, despite Eric's increased broodiness. Broodiness she could deal with.

It was the love she felt from him while he was cursed that did her in. She had felt his love for Godric, his love for his maker was a constant in her life. But never before for another woman, only for her…

"I will always be your home."

His deep voice brings her back to the present as she sobs into his shoulder, clutching on to him for dear life even though all in the world she wants to do is push him away.

"I have never denied you anything, Pamela, _anything_, but I will not give you this. I will not release you." She pulls back slightly, shocked to see his own eyes rimmed with red. "Please, Pam. Don't go."

Her eyes close as his hand rises to cup her cheek, but she shakes her head, reaching up to pull his hand away. "I can't, Eric. I can't stay here and watch you with her. _Feel _you with her. Feel what she does to you, to your heart." She swallows compulsively as she looks away, her voice dropping even lower. "She doesn't love you, not like I do…"

"I know, mitt barn," he answers simply, his hand intertwining with hers as he pulls it up to his lips, brushing a kiss to her knuckles.

"But you love her."

"I do," he says softly, pulling her more tightly to him when she makes to pull away. "I do, but…"

"But nothing," she interrupts, ignoring his growl of frustration. She doesn't bother to try to move again, deciding to try to derive some enjoyment of her last few moments in her maker's embrace. "I won't sit back and watch you get hurt. I would never force you to choose between us, Eric. So I'm making the choice for you."

"I do not require your help in making decisions, Pamela," he says sternly, his eyes narrowed. "I've already made my choice."

She laughs without humor, her cold blood turning to ice as she hisses, "Well then, Master. Just say the words, and I'll be on my way. _As your maker, I release you._"

"I chose you."

For Pam, it's as if the world stopped turning for a moment, and shifted on it's axis. She looks up at Eric with wide, questioning eyes as she whispers, "What?"

"I'm through with Sookie Stackhouse."

"Eric, I…"

"I told her what happened between us was a mistake, Pam, because it was. She wanted to pick and choose what parts of me to love." His voice lowers as he reaches up, combing her hair back from her face before his cool fingers trail down her cheek. "I realized that there was only one woman who had ever loved everything about me. Only one woman capable of accepting all of me, the good and the bad."

"And?" she questions, leaning into his touch.

"And?" Eric repeats, his eyes flashing dark as his fingers slip back into her hair, tugging lightly until her head falls back, so she's looking up into his eyes. "And that's the woman I want to be with. The woman I love. Not her. I am _not _releasing you. You're not going anywhere, even if I have to command you to stay." He lowers his head until their lips are just inches apart as he whispers, "This distance between us ends, Pamela. Tonight."

His lips brush against hers softly, before making their way up to her cheeks, kissing away her tears as he murmurs, "I've loved you since I first laid eyes on your beautiful face, my Pamela. Since the first of many times you defied me when you slit your wrists, and made me make the decision I was too afraid to make on my own, the best decision I have made in a thousand years, one I've never regretted. Since the night you rose as my progeny. And every moment in between."

"Eric…", she chokes out, more tears leaking from her eyes.

"Enough," he says, his voice hoarse, "Enough tears, baby." His lips find hers as he pulls her up to straddle his lap, standing in one fluid motion to his feet as he scoops her up and backs towards the leather couch, holding her tightly to his body, terrified she's going to leave. Terrified this is all too little too late. But Pam's hands find his bare shoulders, her nails digging in as she returns his kiss, before sliding up into his hair. Some part of him fully expected her to push him away, and in his surprise he stumbles, falling less than gracefully onto the couch, Pam landing on top of him, never once breaking away from his lips. After what seems like an eternity, kissing each other like they haven't in years, she pulls away, pressing her forehead to his as she breaths unnecessarily.

Eric's words spill from his lips in a torrent, desperate, more desperate to hear her say the words than he's ever been over anything. "Tell me you'll stay, min kärlek. Stay with me, Pamela." He growls as her eyes close, needing an answer, the cold tendrils of fear creeping through his blood. "Please, Pam. Don't leave me. Don't go." He pulls her little body against him, his lips finding her ear as he whispers, "Be mine again. Completely."

Pam pulls back, her fingers caressing the stubble on his cheek as she looks into his icy blue eyes, seeing the truth in them. The love. The devotion. His sorrow, his fear at the thought of her leaving him. He knows she's been his, completely, all along, but still she answers him simply, "Yes."

He smiles, a real smile that reaches his eyes for once. Knowing that they have a long way to go to heal. And speaking of healing…

"You need my blood."

"I need a lot more than your blood," she says with a raised eyebrow.

He laughs loudly as he grips her waist, grinding her down on his lap, letting her feel what she's done to him. "Me too." The laughter fades from his lips as his hands slide up into her hair, his thumb caressing her cheek as he adds softly, "I need you, Pamela."

She moans, leaning down to capture his lips, slowly at first, their lips and tongues dancing together as his hands start to wander from her hair, down to her hips, before sliding back up under her top. Their kiss becomes more frantic, more needy, her hands finding his neck, pulling him into her lips. Eric, desperate to feel more of her skin under his fingertips, fists the material of her sweater and pulls, tearing it off with one long rip.

"Eric!", she gasps into his mouth before pulling back, her hands tightening around his neck, "Fucking _cashmere_!"

"Don't care," he growls as his eyes darken, taking in what he uncovered, unsurprisingly, she was wearing nothing underneath her sweater. He pulls her flush against him, wanting to feel her bare skin against his, his lips finding hers once again as one hand curls in her hair, the other traveling down her back as he whispers between kisses, "Buy more. Hundreds more. Thousands. I don't give a fuck." His hand slowly raises her skirt, before his thumb hooks into the thin strip of fabric forming the side of her panties, tearing them in two as well. He moans as she gasps but doesn't miss a beat, her lips traveling down his neck, his words coming out as a groan at the sensation of her lips and tongue on his skin, "Those too, buy more. I…", a growl erupts from his chest as she drags her fangs roughly across his throat, muttering mindlessly, "I think I've lost my wallet."

Her tongue laps up the tiny beads of blood she brought forth before she grins against his skin, "As well as your mind, Master?" With a snarl and a burst of movement too quick to follow, he's flipped their positions, pinning her underneath him as he glares down at her, fangs down and eyes blazing. She looks up at him with innocent eyes as she asks, "Too soon?"

"Too soon," he growls, his face terrifyingly angry, but she can feel his amusement filtering through their bond. She watches silently as he sits up on his knees, unbuttoning the ghastly, probably K-mart brand jeans he's wearing, his voice suddenly drawing her attention away from his hands. "Now you're not allowed to replace your sweater."

She grins as he unzips his fly, reaching up to hook a finger through the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him back down on top of her as her feet push his pants down his legs. "You might have lost _your _credit cards, but I haven't lost _mine_."

He rolls his eyes as he rests his weight on his elbows on either side of her head, combing her hair back from her face with his fingers, his voice coming out much softer and much less exasperated than he means for it to.

"Shut the fuck up, Pamela."

She smiles wickedly at him as she reaches down between their bodies, her hand wrapping around his length.

"Make me," she whispers.

With one smooth thrust, he fills her completely, burying himself inside of her as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. His arm wraps around her as her back arches off the couch, crying out his name. He stills, holding her to him, marveling at how her body fits him like a glove, like he's come…

"Home," he whispers against her skin.

"Yes," she answers simply, knowing exactly how he feels, what he means. She hadn't bothered to have sex with another man in decades, what was the point? No one could compare, no one could compete with this, how it felt to have her maker inside of her. Indescribable. The combination of his body, their blood, the overwhelming love in their bond.

She can feel his hand drift from her back, down to her thigh, hitching her leg up further over his waist. His lips find hers as he slowly pulls back, before pushing inside of her again, burying himself to the hilt, both of them moaning at the sensation, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Pamela," he groans against her lips, "I can't…"

He doesn't even know what he means. He can't wait another second. He can't go slow and make this last. He can't understand why it's been so long since they made love, he can't remember what went wrong. He can't live without having this every night of his existence from now on.

He can't believe he almost lost this. Lost _her_.

His eyes slip closed as he turns his head, pressing kisses into her neck, his voice choked with emotion, with the weight of what he almost threw away for someone as insignificant and unworthy as Sookie Stackhouse.

"Min prinsessa, förlåt mig, förlåt mig."

Her only response is to run her hand down his back down to his thighs, pressing him closer as she whispers, "Please, Eric. I need you."

He smiles softly, still refusing to move. "You never answered me. Tell me you'll stay with me. Tell me you're mine, Pamela."

She whines, her fingers trailing across his jaw, tracing the rare, true smile on his face. "That was never in question. Tell me you're _mine."_

He leans down to whisper in her ear as he begins to move, speaking the truth he's allowed himself to forget, allowed not one, but two bitch's sorcery to wipe from his mind.

"I'm yours, and only yours, Pamela. Always."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked, kids. Until next time.**

**mitt barn - my child**

**min kärlek - my love**

**Min prinsessa, förlåt mig, förlåt mig. - My princess, forgive me, forgive me.**


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